


What Happens In Vegas

by Pigzxo



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Mild Smut, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, fair warning there is a bit of an orgy in this, referenced jalec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 19:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13324923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: Magnus Bane, multi-millionaire and CEO of the Bane Corporation, heads to Las Vegas for his bachelor party. At a club, he meets Alec Lightwood, a young man that intrigues him in many ways, and as the night wears on, he finds himself falling hard. A drunken wedding leads to a desperate plea from Isabelle and Magnus finds himself unable to say goodbye to Alec - even if he is engaged to someone else. (Based on an anonymous prompt.)





	What Happens In Vegas

Magnus walks into the club the way he’s accustomed to walking into them now – with a critical eye for the decor and an appreciative eye for the investment. The place has nice bones – brick walls painted black and white, a large dance floor, the catwalks being used as a VIP space – but a lack of pizzazz. Even just a disco ball would fix the place, maybe some neon lights or ribbon dancers hanging from the ceiling. But a gentle touch on his shoulder from Catarina reminds him that this is not a night for such thoughts.

            So he packs them all away. He’s good at packing thoughts away now, almost always was, but Camille has taught him to be better at it, coached him until he now knows exactly what he’s not supposed to think and when he’s not supposed to think it. Like now, for example, when he’s walking into this vampiric club with his closest friends and thinking only about how sad it is that this will be the last time. Camille has made that perfectly clear – once the wedding is done, she’ll be on his arm day and night.

            Raphael pushes a blue and gold drink into his hand and says, “Drink. You look depressed.”

            Magnus starts to laugh but Ragnor pushes the bottom of the glass up with two fingers, forcing Magnus to either drink or ruin his Armani suit. And given that the suit cost more than the DJ budget for this club, Magnus is more than happy to oblige in drinking down the sweet, biting liquid. It burns his throat but leaves his head feeling fuzzy near immediately.

            Raphael smirks. “I got it special.”

            Magnus frowns but doesn’t ask what he means by that. Knowing Raphael, it could mean anything from asking the bartender for a second shot to slipping some cocaine into the sugar around the rim. Magnus licks at the rim anyways because if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that alcohol and drugs are the easiest way to not think the things he’s not supposed to think.

            They wander further into the club, the music pounding through the floorboards, and Magnus nudges around grinding teenagers. He should be used to them by now – after all, most of his businesses run on their patronage – but he finds them tiresome as always. Every single one of them is the same – glassy eyed and wide-mouthed, looking for some release from their monotonous lives that haven’t even started, from the pressures that are still just child’s play at this point. One of them steps on the toe of Magnus’ show and turns to apologize. The girl is blonde and thin and when she smiles, one of her teeth is gold.

            Her hand wraps around his tie and she pulls him in. “Sorry about that, sir,” she slurs and giggles a little. “Let me buy you an apology present.”

            Curling his fingers around hers, Magnus carefully extricates himself from her grip and tells her none of that will be necessary. Raphael claps a hand onto his shoulder and pushes him forward, acting like the bodyguard he was originally hired to be. The position he was fired from because he didn’t give two shits who tried to attack Magnus – eat the rich and all that. But Magnus allows himself to be pushed forward into the grabbing hands of Catarina and Ragnor. Ragnor shoves another blue drink at him and Catarina offers what looks like a glowing cigarette that Magnus is more than a little skeptical of. He takes it anyways. Anything to turn his brain off.

            It takes only a few hundred dollars to bribe the DJ to play Magnus’ iPod playlist. Or is it only fifty bucks? Magnus can’t tell how much money he pulled from his wallet, how much he stuffed into the kid’s fingers before he nodded vigorously and took the iPod. It doesn’t matter. All his cash is pocket change anyways.

            And now that the music is bopping and dancing is a real possibility, the alcohol sweats off of him with every move. His throat gets dry but he continues to jump, to shout the lyrics to the songs at the top of his lungs. When the clock strikes midnight, bubbles rain down from the ceiling and pop with the movement of a thousand bodies. Catarina catches one on her tongue and starts to laugh.

            Magnus stumbles away from them when his feet start to ache, slurring out reassurances that he’ll be okay as he makes his way to the bar. He collapses into the first empty seat and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

            “You too?” a voice asks.

            Magnus turns his head, only bothering to open one eye to see who’s talking. It’s a young man, not more than twenty-three, who’s dressed like he just came out of a particularly dark closet. His black sweater and black jeans make him blend in with the club walls and Magnus is half-tempted to make a crack about a skunk not having better camouflage in here. Something about the man’s tone of voice stops him though or maybe it’s the alcohol slowing his tongue.

            “All these clubs are the same,” he says, so soft that Magnus has to lean in to hear him. The man’s eyes flicker his way and they’re the most gorgeous hazel, flickering and whirling in the dim lights. “Dark and loud. Give me a headache.”

            Magnus hums. “Maybe you’re not drinking enough.”

            “My sister says I drink enough at home.”

            Magnus smirks and raps his knuckles against the bar. The bartender appears almost immediately and Magnus has to put his considerably slowed brain power to work trying to figure out what the man beside him may like to drink. He settles on the blue drinks – they seem to be the specialty – and then spins his stool to face the man. He offers his hand. “Magnus.”

            “Alec.” Alec shakes his hand. “What brings you here tonight?”

            “Bachelor party,” Magnus answers, unsure why he let that slip from his tongue around someone so beautiful. He knows the best way to keep gorgeous people talking to him is not to admit he’s engaged and there really is no shame in looking. Not when it’s a man like this – one with broad shoulders and thick black hair and a crooked kind of smile that Magnus feels a lot like licking.

            “Planning on getting so wasted you end up at the altar?” Alec replies, thankfully thinking he’s joking.

            Magnus smiles. “Is that a proposal?”

            “We’ll see how the night goes.”

            Magnus kind of really wants to kiss Alec. There’s something about him that makes him seem so kissable – maybe it’s the plump lips or the pullable hair or the way he sits with his legs spread apart like he’s just asking Magnus to crawl between them. And didn’t Camille give him a free pass for the trip? What was it she whispered in his ear? _You go and have fun, baby. God knows I’ll be into all sorts of trouble_.

            Magnus isn’t a cheater, he’s not, but what Camille says goes. And she told him to have fun.

            Without waiting for his brain to catch up with him, Magnus leans forwards and presses his lips against Alec’s. There’s a moment of frozen shock before he responds. But he does respond, hungrily and with a reckless nature that only comes from the inexperienced. Magnus coaxes his tongue back a little, grabs on to the back of his neck to angle him just where he wants him. It doesn’t take long for Alec to lose his breath, to pull back to inhale, and Magnus takes the opportunity to dip his head and bite into his neck. Feeling the other man gasp against him is a victory and the sensation goes right to Magnus’ crotch. He chuckles as he nibbles behind Alec’s ear, listening to every heavily exhaled breath.

            “I should...” Alec starts. “I should get back... to my friends... I...” He hisses out his breath as Magnus wraps a hand around his thigh. The muscle there is thick and tense and when Magnus skids his thumb along the inseam of Alec’s jeans, his whole body goes lax and pliable. Then his hand comes down over Magnus’.

            Magnus freezes and pulls back, even though he doesn’t want to. His lips are cracked and salty from licking up the sweat on Alec’s skin but he doesn’t move for the lip chap in his back pocket. His eyes are glued on Alec’s, wondering, fearing, waiting.

            Alec smiles at him. “You can’t marry me without meeting my sister,” he says. “She’ll kill us both.”

            Magnus wonders if that’s a challenge or a promise. He wants to ask but he’s a little afraid to because he doesn’t know what he wants the answer to be. Does he want to marry the beautiful stranger? He’s really not drunk enough yet to answer that.

            Alec takes his hand – their fingers curl together so easily that Magnus wonders if it’s them or if hands are just made to fit together – and leads him into the crowd. They push past couples and groups of friends and Magnus uses it as an excuse to curl closer. He knows he really doesn’t have to be pressed up against Alec’s back to follow him through the crowd but he likes the warmth of him and the sound he makes low in his throat when Magnus nibbles at his neck.

            They stop at a group of girls in tight party dresses and Magnus’ first instinct is that Alec lost his friends. These girls certainly don’t seem like his type of friends – Alec may be gay or bi or something else entirely, but Magnus doesn’t pin him as the type of gay who hangs out with screaming girls – but they turn to him in a tizzy. They stumble on their heels and shout their greetings too loud and several of them reach out to touch Magnus’ suit while they compliment his arms. Magnus raises one eyebrow and shoots Alec a look.

            “This is Magnus,” Alec says loudly, partly to be heard above the music and partly to be heard above the girls. “Isabelle, I thought you’d want to meet him before we got married.”

            Isabelle – presumably Alec’s sister – goes wide-eyed. She even seems to steady for a moment as she reaches out to take Magnus’ hands. In a serious, deep voice, she says, “Don’t hurt him. Promise me you won’t hurt him.”

            Magnus stares at her for a long moment, unsure if she’s serious or not. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, so he says very softly, “I promise,” and she lets go.

            Another one of the girls, a redhead, stumbles into his side and, before he can steady her himself, a man pulls her back by the hip. The man smiles – all bright white teeth and different coloured eyes – and if the redhead wasn’t clearly his girlfriend, Magnus might switch from Alec to him in an instant. Not that he isn’t completely in love with the way Alec responds to him already, just that the new man looks like a fast and hard fuck while Alec probably needs coaxing and softness and a million other things Magnus isn’t sure he has the patience for.

            As he stands there, Magnus gets introduced to the whole crowd. They shout their names out and add fun facts – Clary, the redhead, is an artist and Lydia dated Alec all through high school before he came out. Magnus takes it in stride, feeling boredom overwhelm him even as Alec curls closer into his side. The alcohol is already wearing off – or maybe it’s whatever Raphael spiked it with – and the monotony of the loud club is getting to him.

            Without really thinking about it, Magnus says, “Let’s get out of here,” to no one in particular, and when he turns, with all the power he’s used to his voice having, the whole lot of them follows. He picks up his lost friends as he walks – Ragnor from a group of nearly underage girls, Raphael from the bar, and Catarina from a group of drag queens who are aggressively complimenting her makeup.

            They emerge into the cool night and Magnus instantly remembers what it’s like to breathe. The only warm spot on him is where Alec is pressed into his side, comfortable and embarrassed all at once. Magnus wonders how to coax that out of him and then remembers that it’s wholly not his problem. He shouldn’t even be cuddling with Alec, let alone thinking about how to make the other man open up to him.

            They start to walk and it’s a few moments before the gaggle of girls starts to ask where they’re going. Magnus can feel himself getting a headache. It’s not that they’re not hot – ask him any other day or night and he’d fuck all of them at once – it’s that they’re drunk and loud and he can feel the world spinning under his feet. When Raphael offers him the vial of coke, he takes it with none of his usual protests and lets the instant shot of energy rush through him. He sees Alec side-eye him and he offers him the vial.

            Alec takes it. There’s the first real surprise of the night.

            Magnus takes them all back to his hotel. His suite takes up the whole of the top floor, complete with seven bedrooms each with their own ensuite, a private pool, and a stripper pole in the middle of the living room. Isabelle jumps to that right away, grabbing it with one hand and swinging around it with all the grace of a ballerina. Her raven locks swing into the air as she arches backwards and Magnus feels himself becoming a lot less annoyed by her.

            “Switching Lightwoods?” Alec says. His voice is flat but needy and Magnus feels himself recoil from it.

            “Don’t be jealous,” Magnus scolds. “You’re both beautiful.”

            Alec snorts and settles against the wall, his arms crossed against his chest. “She’s always the winner.”

            “Probably because she dresses better.” Magnus wants to stop being an asshole – he always _wants_ to stop – but it’s hard in this particular situation. He’s still not sure if Camille gave him the green light or not – with her he’s never sure – and he’s getting restless and the high is dropping already. He used to have less of a tolerance for this shit, used to have more fun while he was on it, now he just feels like he’s dying. He always feels like he’s dying.

            He doesn’t wait for Alec to reply – he’s not sure Alec will reply – and he goes to the bar to open a bottle of champagne. It pops in a cascade of fizz that he doesn’t wait to subside before he starts chugging it. He waits for his vision to blur, he waits for the enjoyment to come back, he opens another bottle and watches as Raphael cuts lines out on a makeup mirror.

            The music starts to pound through him and Magnus forgets he’s a person with a life. He’s energy, he’s light, he’s just another beat in the music. Then he’s kissing someone and he’s not sure who – all he really feels is lip gloss and he tastes cherries. Someone else is tucked in behind him, holding him tight against them. Magnus grinds backwards, revels the feel of broad hips tucked against his. Someone kisses his neck. Someone else latches onto his lips. He can hear laughter and music and screams and somewhere, far away, there are sirens.

            When he ends up stumbling into a dark hallway with only one pair of hands, he’s not really sure whose they are until he hears that rumbling again. His whole body responds to it and he presses Alec harder into the wall until he gasps. His cock is hard against Magnus’ thigh and it would take a couple grinds, maybe less, to get him off, but Magnus isn’t feeling that nice, not tonight.

            He sighs as he detaches their lips and moves his mouth to Alec’s ear. “If only I wasn’t saving myself for marriage,” he whispers.

            Alec chuckles. “Tell that to someone who wasn’t watching the orgy in the living room.”

            Magnus tsks. “Kissing isn’t an orgy.”

            “It went a lot further than that from what I saw,” Alec challenges.

            And Magnus wants to remember what he’s talking about but he also doesn’t. He remembers being on his knees at one point or another. He’s tasted things that aren’t lips tonight for sure. He remembers the voice of that blonde guy in his ear as he... as he what?

            “From what you _experienced_ ,” Magnus retorts. Because it was Alec’s dick in his mouth while the other man – Jace – told him exactly what to do, exactly what Alec liked.

            Alec moans a little and Magnus isn’t sure if it’s the memory or the fact that Magnus shifted.

            “Marry me,” Magnus repeats and he doesn’t know where the words are coming from. Maybe these are just the words he says when he’s high and drunk and sweaty and over-sexed. It was a night a lot like this one when he proposed to Camille.

            “Okay,” Alec says.

            “Just okay?” Magnus teases. “Not yes?”

            “How enthusiastic do you want me to be?” The words could be sarcastic but Alec whines them, the sound rumbling through his body, and it’s almost like begging. He’s so hard it hurts against Magnus’ thigh and he’d probably do just about anything to be fucked right now – marry Magnus, blow Magnus, whatever.

            Magnus takes a step back and starts walking. And when he’s back in the living room, he has to admit that Alec is right – it is an orgy. The main reason he knows it’s an orgy is not the naked body parts and open mouths but the fact that there’s no sign of Raphael.

            Magnus claps twice and announces, “We’re going to the chapel!”

            Catarina cheers. Clary disentangles herself from Isabelle to say, “We’re not there yet!” and Jace bursts into laughter. The sound ripples across his abs and Magnus lets his eyes fall to the V of his hips. When he glances back at Alec, he notices him doing the same.

            Magnus threads his fingers through Alec’s and holds their intertwined hands up for all to see. “ _We’re_ getting married.”

            There is a split second of shocked silence in the room and Magnus relishes in it just enough before it cracks open into a cacophony of noise. He expects protests, arguments, people telling them they’re crazy, but it’s the exact opposite that happens. Isabelle starts criticizing Alec’s outfit. “Do you really want to be wearing _that_ when you get married?” Jace looks down pointedly and adds, “Do you really want to be sporting that when you get married?” and Alec flips him off. Clary has her hands in Alec’s hair, brushing it back from his face and murmuring something about it being “sex tousled” which Magnus is sure it is not.

            For his part, Magnus is surrounded by his own friends who seem to have forgotten about Camille’s existence altogether. So much so that Magnus wonders if she is real or if he just imagined her or if this is really his bachelor party or maybe Camille broke up with him and he’s having a mental break. Any of these things could be possible. But he shoves them all aside as Catarina starts quizzing him on the wedding preparations – flowers, streamers, food, Elvis impersonators – and Ragnor begins to babble about how _last year_ it is to wear Armani to a wedding. Magnus wishes Raphael hadn’t disappeared – he’s the only level-headed one in the group.

            It’s a testament to how fucked up they are that it takes a full twenty minutes for any of them to realize they’re in Vegas – city of drive thru weddings and snap-of-the-finger marriages. Clary realizes this with a shriek and that shocked silence comes back. Magnus glances at Alec who offers him the smallest of smiles and Magnus feels his heart swell in a way that’s wholly new.

            After that, the night is a blur. A good, cotton candy kind of blur. Magnus remembers bits and pieces of the elevator ride down, a violently pink chapel with a drag queen as the officiant, and riding the elevator back up with Alec’s hands down his pants.

 

Magnus wakes with the kind of pounding headache he hasn’t had since he was a teenager – and a young teenager at that. He rolls to the side of the bed and spits bile. The vomit hasn’t come yet – thank god the vomit hasn’t come yet – but it will and Magnus has a sneaking suspicion it’ll be all kinds of colours he isn’t ready to know he willingly ingested.

            He rolls onto his back again with a groan and throws up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun shining into the room. He feels the metal ring hit his forehead. He knows, deep down, he should feel panic. He got married in Vegas to someone who is not his fiancé and here he is now, naked in a hotel bed, with his new husband. Or at least he assumes that’s the course of events. He’s a little blurry on everything after the second elevator ride.

            So when he turns his head and sees not Alec but Lydia, he’s still not surprised. He’s still not panicked. He feels a huge gaping hole in his chest where the emotions are supposed to go and he wonders if the coke has finally burned through the last of his nerves. Or maybe he’s just too hungover to be worried about anything other than the impending day he’ll spend bent over the toilet. He wonders absently if he can get Raphael to hang out with him or if he’ll just get another lecture about how much of a fucking lightweight he still is after all these years.

            He stretches and then props himself up on his elbows. Behind Lydia, Clary lies. Now that Magnus looks closer, it’s clear that Clary is wrapped completely around Lydia. Magnus shakes his head – a bad idea – and pushes himself up into a seated position as he rubs his temples.

            On the floor, Jace and Alec lay a good foot and a half away from each other. Jace still has his boxers on but Alec is butt-naked. His morning wood is impressive – Magnus almost forgets he’s supposed to be panicking as he appreciates it – and he looks sweet as he sleeps. His face is soft and gone is the rough sarcasm from the day before. Like this, he looks pliable and soft like he felt under Magnus’ hands, under Magnus’ tongue. Magnus can feel himself getting hard just thinking about it.

            He doesn’t consider the consequences. He just slips out of bed and pads towards Alec, kneels down so he won’t wake the whole room. Maybe, if they’re quiet enough, they can sneak off to the bathroom and fuck in peace. Not that Magnus minds an audience but he feels like it’ll be better for Alec, better for their new marriage. Because despite waking up next to Lydia, Magnus is sure that he married Alec last night, that it was Alec’s hazel eyes looking back at him in the chapel, that it was Alec he kissed when the officiant said _‘til death do you part_.

            Magnus reaches to shake Alec awake but then he notices something red and white on his wrist. At first, Magnus thinks it’s a club stamp or some other stupid Vegas trinket, but upon closer inspection, his stomach drops. The scars are old – a couple days maybe, not much more – but they are scars. And just seeing them makes Magnus feel sick and shaky and like he has a blade in his hand again and suddenly he _needs_ one. He needs one in between his fingers, shiny and silver and smooth, and he feels like he’s going to vomit for a completely different reason now as he remembers the smell and the feel and the look of blood running down his fingertips.

            He stands abruptly, stumbling back from Alec, forgetting that this is his hotel room, his temporary home, his place to sleep. He gathers his wallet and his phone and his watch and what clothes of his he can find and stumbles towards the elevator. When the doors ding and start to close on him, he hits the number on the phone just a little too hard. He knows he doesn’t have to hit it. He knows, he knows, he knows he knows he _knows_.

            “Is the orgy finally over?” Raphael says when he answers and based on the roughness of his voice, Magnus is sure he’s just as hungover as he is.

            Magnus almost feels bad for him, almost wants not to bother him. But Magnus knows that Raphael would never forgive him if he slipped, if he had a panic attack, if he fell to pieces without trying to ask for help. So Magnus swallows all the latent self-loathing and says, “I need help.”

            Raphael’s voice perks up immediately. “Where are you?”

            “Headed to the lobby.”

            “Sit in one of those weird sea shell things and don’t fucking move.”

            The call cuts off abruptly. Magnus isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. The elevator doors ding open at the lobby and he makes his way – slow, steady – towards ones of those weird sea shell things. It’s a gold armchair only the back is shaped like a seashell as if they’re in a Broadway production of Ariel. God, even being snarky makes Magnus’ head hurt.

            He rubs his eyes and then he rubs his wrists. He rubs them faster and harder, until they feel raw under all the expensive lotions he’s used for the last two decades of his life. Then a hand comes down over his own and Magnus freezes. He looks up into Raphael’s grey eyes until Raphael kneels to be at eye-level. Magnus has always liked that about him – how quick he is to discard the big bully routine when someone needs him.

            “What happened?” Raphael asks and his voice is low and sweet and soft.

            “Alec,” Magnus sighs. “I...” Magnus isn’t sure how to word the real problem, so he says, “I married him.”

            “And?”

            “And he cuts.” Magnus’ voice wobbles on the words and he can hear it break. He hears the sound in his own voice before he feels it in his nose and on his breath. The tears that fall down his cheeks are warm and sticky and Magnus feels all the gross bodily fluids of last night on his skin suddenly. He really needs a shower.

            Raphael squeezes his hands tighter. “We’ll get an annulment. We’ll get out of here. You’ll see Camille.” He forces a smile and Magnus almost laughs at how awful it looks on his ashen face. “Everything will be all right.”

            “I need a shower,” Magnus says.

            “You have a hotel room.”

            Magnus shakes his head. “They’re all in there.”

            Raphael, bless him, doesn’t ask who _they all_ are. Instead, he sighs and gets to his feet. “You can use my room,” he says and somehow it doesn’t surprise Magnus at all that Raphael would book a second room just for himself despite the fact that Magnus booked a seven room suite. Maybe Raphael predicted the night would go something like this.

            Magnus follows Raphael up to his room and takes a long shower. He keeps the water lukewarm, too afraid that going to hot will make him cross the line to scalding and he’s shaky enough as it is. In the shower, he starts to panic. He has a husband and a fiancé. A self-harming husband and a psychotic fiancé. He almost hyperventilates in the shower before Raphael knocks on the door and tells him to hurry the hell up.

            Raphael will take care of this. Raphael takes care of everything.

            Magnus dries off and calls the front desk to bring some of his dry cleaning up to Raphael’s room. They oblige and Magnus dresses for the day, feeling more himself in a button down shirt and slacks than he did in a towel. As they head down for breakfast, Magnus tries to ignore the pounding of his heart and the impending doom of the day ahead. He still hasn’t vomited. He expects that’ll come after he eats – right now his stomach is too empty to expel anything other than bile.

            He and Raphael walk into the breakfast room and join Ragnor and Catarina at a table in the corner. Ragnor says, “Rough night?” and Magnus flips him off before digging into the huge stack of pancakes in the centre of the table.

            “How’d the orgy go?” Catarina asks.

            Magnus manages a smirk. “You didn’t stay for it?”

            “Just the first few hours,” Ragnor answers for her. He spears a strawberry off Magnus’ plate and pops it between his lips. As he chews, red juice dripping off his lips, he continues, “After that, well, we got bored.”

            “You can only get off so many times before it’s boring,” Catarina adds.

            “Disagree,” Magnus says, “but to each his own.”

            Ragnor laughs a little too hard considering but Magnus lets it slide. He’s sure Raphael is glaring at both of them, giving them that look that says _shut up about everything now_. But both Ragnor and Catarina know better than to let things lapse into silence when shit is going down, even if they don’t necessarily know what that shit is. So they instead launch into a brilliant retelling of last night which includes the promenade down the Strip and a live strip show in the lobby of the hotel. Magnus doesn’t know whether or not to believe them.

            He’s almost done his third pancake when someone marches up to the table. He glances up at her shadow and then nearly swallows his tongue at her glare. Isabelle stands a good foot shorter than him but in her heels and the plastic mini dress, she looks like she could kill a man with her bare hands. Maybe she has before. Magnus doesn’t really want to find out.

            “I need to talk to you,” she says but instead of sounding how she looks – scary and pissed off – she sounds soft, scared, worried.

            Magnus softens towards her immediately. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and gets to his feet before he even says, “Of course.”

            Isabelle leads him back into the lobby and takes a seat on one of the patent leather couches. She taps the spot next to her with her palm and Magnus takes a seat. She curls her long, thin fingers in her lap. Her fingernails, painted burgundy, look sharp enough to scar.

            “We need to talk about Alec,” she says.

            Magnus waits for more but it doesn’t come. “I know,” he says and then stops. He doesn’t really know anything.

            “I thought taking him to Vegas would be fun,” Isabelle explains and her voice is so quiet Magnus has to lean in to hear her. “I thought it’d be a good change of pace, that it would excite him, that he’d meet someone and be happy again. Or as happy as Alec is. And it’s been a shit show the last couple of days and then he met you and now...” She swallows hard.

            “Now what?” Magnus asks.

            “Now he’s married and he’s scared and he doesn’t know you at all.” Isabelle meets Magnus’ eyes and her expression is hard to read. He can’t tell if she’s mad or scared or worried or anything at all. But she’s not hiding her emotion either, she’s just that confused. “I don’t know what to do.”

            “We’ll get annulled,” Magnus says, “and that’ll be that. Just a fun story to tell at parties.”

            Isabelle shakes her head. “I don’t know if Alec can handle that right now.”

            “Handle an annulment? You think he’d rather be scared and married to a stranger?”

            She swallows hard. “My brother... he just got out of a really rough relationship that had an even rougher breakup. He’s not in a good place. And while he’s fucking terrified to be married to someone he doesn’t know, I don’t think he has the mental capacity to realize that annulling this marriage isn’t another rejection. I think it’ll hit him hard.”

            Magnus stares at her for a long time. He feels her pain in his chest like it’s making it harder to breathe, harder to keep his heart beating. He keeps picturing Alec up in the suite with a blade in his hand. Magnus swallows hard. “I can’t be responsible for his mental health,” Magnus says. He tries not to make it sound harsh. “I have a life and a fiancé. I can’t be married to... to a kid I don’t know.”

            Isabelle nods. Then she reaches out and takes Magnus’ hands in hers. His hands are so much bigger than hers and hers are so cold, but she grips his hands tight and says, “I know it’s too much to ask of you to stay married to him. But you’re here for the weekend, right?”

            Magnus nods.

            “Us too.” She swallows. “So I would, umm, really appreciate it if maybe you could just stay married to my brother until the end of it?”

            “What?”

            “I’ll talk him down. I’ll take care of him. I know how.” She swallows visibly and blinks the tears out of her mascara. Her makeup is somehow still impeccable. Magnus wonders if she woke up like that or if she touched up her makeup before coming down to the lobby. “But I need you to just play along for a few days. Just pretend to like him. Not romantically even, just... just as a friend. Show him you’re not rejecting him outright. Show him he’s worth some attention. And I’ll get him to understand an annulment doesn’t mean he’s worthless or whatever. That it’s just good sense right now. And then... then you can go back to your life and we’ll go back to ours and we’ll forget this whole weekend even happened, okay?”

            Magnus stares at her for a long moment. He knows he should say no. He knows that Alec is going to be one big trigger for him all weekend long, whenever he sees the scars or his wrists or even notices Alec hiding his wrists. He knows pretending to like Alec – even if he’s not completely pretending – won’t help in the long run. But he also has Alec’s shaking sister in front of him, a woman who looks like she’s used to being able to deal with problems with a snap of her sharpened fingernails, begging him to just pretend. To keep Alec alive for a handful of days. And Magnus knows if this had happened to him when he was in a bad place, when he was cutting, that he would have wanted someone to do the same thing for him.

            “Okay,” he says.

            Isabelle blinks. “Okay?”

            Magnus nods. “We’ll stay married for the weekend.”

            Isabelle hugs him so tight that Magnus forgets his lungs need to fill with air in order for him to breathe. She shakes, a small sob falling out of her, and Magnus hugs her back. After all, it’s the least he can do for his sister-in-law.

 

Magnus walks back into the suite with his heart in his throat. He drags his feet through the living room, past three bedrooms, and into the master suite. All the others have cleared out – the only remaining signs of them the pieces of clothing that have been left behind – and Alec stands alone in the bathroom. Magnus can see half his back behind the half-closed door and half his chest in the portion of the mirror that’s visible from this angle.

            He clears his throat.

            “Hi, hubby,” Alec says, his voice such a deadpan that it makes Magnus chuckle.

            “Are you terrified?” Magnus asks. He approaches and leans against the bathroom door, pushing it further open to reveal Alec in tight boxer briefs. Magnus lets his eyes drop to appreciate his ass.

            “I was the one who asked you to marry me,” Alec says.

            “Were you?” Magnus hums. “I don’t quite remember.”

            Alec turns with a smile, the string of floss still wrapped around his fingers, and Magnus is overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him. It’s a foreign feeling. Or, at the very least, a nostalgic feeling. Magnus can’t remember the last time the simple act of smiling made him want to kiss someone’s lips, kiss the smile right off them and share it. He can’t remember the last time his stomach fluttered at the sight of someone or his heart calmed in their presence.

            Then Magnus remembers the scars and his eyes drop to Alec’s wrists. Alec pulls back almost immediately and curls his fingers around the edge of the sink, trying to look calm and failing. He bends over the sink to spit.

            Magnus, in a fleeting moment of panic, reaches out and runs his knuckles down Alec’s spine. “I remember what it’s like,” Magnus whispers and he tries to steel himself against the memories that come flooding in. “What it feels like. Why it seems... necessary.”

            “I don’t want to talk about this,” Alec snaps. But he doesn’t move away from Magnus’ touch and he doesn’t let go of the sink.

            “We can get you some help. Some real help.”

            “For a couple hundred dollars an hour.”

            Magnus shrugs. “Pocket change.”

            Alec glances over his shoulder with such a heavy glare Magnus actually flinches. Then, Alec scoffs and nearly laughs. He runs a hand through his hair. “To you, maybe.” Alec sighs and leans his weight back against the sink as he looks up at Magnus. It’s a nice sensation – being looked up at by someone taller than him. “To me, it’s... years of work to get that kind of pocket change.”

            “My money is yours now.” Magnus smiles. “I doubt we paused long enough to sign a prenup.”

            Alec snorts. “I don’t think prenups are necessary when there’s an annulment involved.”

            Magnus lets the words hang in the air. He’s not sure how to deal with it, what to say. He’s pretty sure bringing up that Alec’s sister asked him to stay married to him isn’t going to go over well.

            “We’re getting an annulment, right?” Alec prompts.

            Magnus nods. “But let’s wait a few days.” He shrugs when Alec gives him a look. “We’re in Vegas. Let’s have some fun.” He reaches out and pulls Alec closer by the waistband of his underwear. Their hips knock together and their breath mingles. Magnus hears Alec’s breath catch, a slight whine in his throat, but he doesn’t kiss him. “Let’s see how married life treats us.”

            Alec closes his eyes momentarily. Then says, “Nothing serious.”

            “Of course not.”

            “I just got out of something bad and I can’t... I won’t...”

            “Nothing serious,” Magnus repeats. And then, because he knows Alec is panicking, he kisses him. And it’s different from all the intoxicated kisses they shared, different from most kisses Magnus has had. It’s soft and sweet and still strong and passionate. Magnus deepens it without really meaning to, pushing forward and capturing Alec between his body and the sink. Alec chuckles into the kiss.

            “You showered yet?” Alec asks.

            And even though he has, Magnus says, “Not yet.”

 

Convincing his friends to play along is harder than Magnus thought it would be. He has to promise them all kinds of things – he’s not falling in love, he’s not thinking of leaving Camille, yes he’ll buy them all personal helicopters – before they fall in line. And then it’s like their Vegas trip has just added a few more people to the guest list.

            They spend the afternoon gambling in the hotel casino, Magnus pouring chips and cash into people’s hands, moving from table to table to whisper hints in his friends’ ears. He ends up at Blackjack with Alec sitting in his lap and he alternates between helping him play and distracting him by kissing his neck.

            At night, they go to a strip show that has everyone laughing. Magnus raises his hand high into the air when they ask for newlyweds for one performance and he and Alec get dragged onto the stage. Magnus isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol or the girls’ flapper skirts that have Alec laughing but he’ll take it. He’ll take any smile he can get on his face.

            The crowd ends up in the living room of his suite around one a.m. – an early night for Vegas – sipping drinks and trading horror stories. Eventually, it turns into a game of Never Have I Ever that has even Magnus blushing. By three, Jace and Clary are making out in an armchair and Alec is snoozing against his shoulder. Magnus cards his fingers through the other man’s dark hair as Raphael recounts the first – and last – time he ever went to a brothel. Isabelle giggles through it and Magnus feels a pang of sadness at that look in her eyes. He thinks he’ll pull her aside before she embarrasses herself.

            Once again, the lot of them end up asleep in the same room but this time it’s in a lazy tangle of coupled limbs. Magnus wakes in the morning to Alec snoring and Clary talking in her sleep. Somewhere, the shower is running.

            He gets up to order room service and is unsurprised when Alec stumbles into the hallway after him. Alec’s rubbing his eyes, looking like he hasn’t slept a wink despite being the first of them to close their eyes. Magnus watches him for a moment, wondering, before he asks, “Good sleep?”

            “Great,” Alec replies through a yawn.

            “You still look tired.”

            Alec shrugs. “I’m always tired.”

            Magnus doesn’t respond, mostly because the only response he has is years of therapy ingrained in his subconscious and occasionally he listens when people tell him they don’t want therapy. “Do you get enough sleep?” he asks.

            Alec gives him a weird look. “You were there.”

            Magnus says nothing.

            Alec sighs. “In general, probably not.” He steps closer and pulls Magnus closer by his tie. “Is this the kind of husband you’re gonna be?” he whispers. “Always worried about me? Always asking questions? Because I might need to find ways to shut you up.”

            Magnus lets Alec kiss him, even kisses back until the elevator dings and the room service carts come in. Magnus goes to tip the servers and rouse everyone from their sleep, very aware that Alec is trailing at his feet. They sit on the couch and pick at bacon and pancakes and, once everyone has caffeine in their systems, the noise starts up. They discuss plans for the day – activities and places to go and things to see – and the arguments get a little out of hand.

            Three separate locations are picked out – an apple orchard, testing out race cars, and sipping martinis by the pool. As much as Magnus wants to sunbathe by the pool, he relents to Alec’s soft begging to get him to go to the apple orchard. Maybe it’s just the begging. Maybe it’s more than that. Magnus isn’t in the mood to analyze it as they walk out into the summer sun holding hands, sweating beneath their hats.

            They get baskets and start to pick apples. At some point, they lose the others and Alec turns to Magnus with a playful smile. Magnus isn’t even surprised when he gets pushed back into a tree and kissed like tomorrow depends on it. He slows the kisses though, not liking the idea of getting naked in the middle of an orchard in the blistering heat, and eventually manages to coax Alec off of him.

            When Magnus sees the flicker of disappointment in Alec’s eyes, he says, “We can do other things.”

            Alec shrugs. “I know.”

            But it sounds very much like he doesn’t know. Magnus takes a step after him but keeps a safe distance as Alec reaches up to pick an apple off a tree. He clears his throat and adds, “Like talk. We can talk.”

            Alec glances back at him with a doubtful and guarded look. “I said nothing serious.”

            Magnus shrugs. “Friends talk.”

            “We’re not friends. We’re married.”

            “There’s a winning relationship tip.”

            Alec sighs and sinks onto the ground. He leans back against the trunk of an apple tree and Magnus stands, awkwardly, not wanting to ruin his designer clothes. When Alec makes no sign he’ll start talking otherwise, Magnus sinks begrudgingly to the ground and meets Alec’s eyes. Still no talking.

            “Do you want to talk about it?”

            “About what?”

            “That relationship you just came out of,” Magnus says. “The thinking relationships are all about sex thing.”

            Alec picks at the grass around him and averts his eyes.

            “Because I feel obligated to tell you that sex isn’t even that important in the long run.”

            “It was either sex or fighting with him,” Alec says, “and if I didn’t want to fight, I had to have sex to get out of the argument. So if I didn’t feel like either, it was... shitty.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “He was supposed to be my best friend, too. He was my best friend until we started dating and then... then everything went to shit. And we couldn’t even talk to each other without wanting to kill each other and he just wanted me to do exactly what he said all the time and I was happy to oblige because who the fuck else was gonna love me and...” Alec breaks off with a hitching sob. He sniffs. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

            He rubs his wrists and Magnus resists the urge to reach out and stop him. Instead, he swallows the bile in his throat and says, “Just because one person is awful to you, it doesn’t mean you’re not deserving of love.”

            Alec laughs. “Who wants to love the fucked up kid who fell in love with his best friend and then got so obsessed with fucking him he couldn’t even see he was being abused?”

            Magnus hesitates.

            “I mean, I think about it all the time. I miss the shit out of him and I want him back but... he just told me what to do all the time. And if I didn’t do it, he made me feel like a monster. And nothing I felt or wanted was acceptable or even acknowledged and I thought... I thought because we were friends that he loved me and knew what was best but...” Alec shakes his head. “It wasn’t that simple.”

            “It’s not your fault.”

            “I didn’t even have the guts to get out of it. He broke up with me. He told me he was never attracted to me and never could be and that having sex with me was like having sex with a rotting fish and—”

            “He’s a fucking moron,” Magnus says.

            Alec finally looks up, surprised.

            Magnus smiles. “You’re nothing like a rotting fish.”

            “You were drunk. And high.”

            “Not in the shower.”

            Alec warms a little, the edge of his lip curling upwards. He looks away again as he pulls a huge pile of grass out of the ground. “I really did love him,” he says quietly.

            Magnus wants to say something encouraging – something like _fuck him_ or _he wasn’t worth it_ – but he thinks that might make him a hypocrite. He hates how much of his relationship with Camille he sees in Alec’s words – the control, the lack of emotional support, the sex to avoid fights. He hates that even hearing it, analyzing it in his own head, he doesn’t want to lose it. He doesn’t want to leave her. He really does love her.

            “Goes to show you shouldn’t fall in love with your best friend, I guess.”

            Magnus shakes himself out of his thoughts and something else occurs to him. He narrows his eyes. “You dated Jace?”

            Alec laughs. A full-bodied, riotous laugh. “No. Fuck no.”

            “Isn’t he your best friend?”

            Alec shrugs. “I guess? But Jace is as straight as a fucking board.”

            Magnus purses his lips, letting silence reign for a moment. Then, he says, “Doubtful.”

            Alec laughs again and the sound is so bright and loud and _annoying_ and Magnus wants to hear it every second for the rest of his life. He never wants to hear anything else for as long as he lives. He searches for things he can say to make Alec laugh some more because Alec’s laughter feels like it’s pressing against his chest, making his heart grow like the Grinch’s.

            “He did tell me how to give you a blow job,” Magnus says.

            The laugh crests and then falls into silent chuckles that shake Alec’s whole body. Tears glitter in his eyes. When he gets his breath back, he manages, “Jace likes to experiment, sure, but being bi-curious and sex addict doesn’t make him my ex-boyfriend.”

            It’s Magnus’ turn to laugh and, when he does, Alec’s eyes go all soft and gooey. Magnus wonders if he looked that stupid, that head-over-heels, while Alec was laughing. He wonders if Alec noticed.

            Then, because he can’t stop himself, he tilts forward and kneels over Alec. He rests one hand against the tree trunk to steady himself as he looks down at the other man, both of them smiling, their laughter warm in the air between them. Magnus tilts up Alec’s chin with one finger to get a better look at him and he feels butterflies in his stomach, in his veins, in every damn part of him. He breathes out a sigh and feels Alec shift underneath him.

            “Not just about sex, right?” Magnus says.

            Alec smiles at him. “Not _just_.”

            And Magnus kisses him, soft and sweet and like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing. There is nothing else he’d rather be doing. He’s sure of it. And they stay like that, sharing sweet kisses, melting in the summer heat, until they hear the loud sound of someone clearing their throat behind them.

            Magnus detaches from Alec and glances over his shoulder. Standing there are Lydia and Catarina, both with their arms crossed and big baskets of apples hanging from the crooks of their elbows. Lydia says, “Did you even _try_ to pick apples?” while Catarina’s raised eyebrow speaks paragraphs.

 

“Don’t say it,” Magnus warns the moment they’re alone. “I know.”

            “Do you know?” Catarina stops at the bathroom door. They’re in the public bathrooms in the hotel lobby – the public _men’s_ bathrooms but that didn’t stop Catarina from following him in. She’ll only set one foot over the threshold though.

            Magnus turns the tap onto cold and splashes water onto his face. “Isabelle asked me to help him out. That’s all I’m doing.”

            “Bullshit. I know you. I know your face.”

            “I’m just helping him out.”

            Magnus isn’t exactly surprised when Catarina’s hand shuts off the tap and she shoves his shoulder so he turns to face her. The droplets in his eyes make her blurry but she stands there, arms crossed and expression stern, until his vision clears. He swallows hard.

            “You’re engaged to Camille,” she says.

            “I’m married to Alec.”

            “Drunk. In Vegas. It doesn’t count.”

            Magnus wants to argue that if drunk-married in Vegas doesn’t count, he’s not sure how high-engaged in LA does, but he knows better than to try that argument with Catarina. Raphael, maybe. Ragnor, for sure. But not Catarina.

            “You need to get your head above water before you do something stupid like fall in love with him.”

            Magnus gives her a look. “It’s only for the weekend. And this is reality, not a bullshit rom-com. I’m not going to fall in love with him in the next two days.”

            “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

            Magnus rolls his eyes and pushes past her to get to the paper towels. Even though his hands and face are mostly dry by now, he makes a show of drying it all up. Then, as he pushes the bathroom door open, he says, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

 

Magnus wants to spend the night getting wasted at the loudest nightclub he can find if only so he doesn’t have to hear Catarina’s monologue in his head. But the rush of the week has caught up with Alec – the look in his eyes would be obvious enough if it wasn’t for the sweatpants and him being collapsed on the bed. Magnus walks into the master bedroom to hear Isabelle trying to coax Alec into jeans and Alec’s stubborn silence.

            “Go out,” Magnus says. He sees the surprise in Isabelle’s eyes when she turns to look at him but he waves it off. “Have fun. I can take care of him.”

            Isabelle hesitates. “He’s my brother.”

            “He’s my husband,” Magnus retorts and he knows it’s no comfort. She wants someone there who knows Alec, who knows how to take care of him, who will know what to do if he spirals out of control. Sweatpants and _Toddlers in Tiaras_ is nothing to be worried about but if Alec steps off a ledge, they both know it can go bad quick. “I’ll be fine,” Magnus adds.

            Isabelle nods and backs out of the room.

            “Thanks for that,” Alec says. He flips the channel and adds, “You don’t have to stay in with me though, if you don’t want to.”

            “Of course I want to,” Magnus says and he’s surprised to find that it’s not a lie. Yes, he would love to be fucked up and not thinking, but curling up on a bed with Alec doesn’t seem like a bad alternative. He kicks off his shoes and crawls onto the bed, leaving enough space between them to keep Alec comfortable but not so much it feels like he’s avoiding him. “What are we watching?”

            Alec stops flipping channels. _A Bug’s Life_ is on. “This,” Alec says with no hint of sarcasm.

            Magnus doesn’t protest, doesn’t even comment. He settles back into the pillows and lets the cartoon play across the screen. It’s funnier than he remembers it being or maybe the bright colours are just more stimulating than he expected. Alec shifts closer to him on the bed and his head winds up on Magnus’ shoulder. Magnus shifts into a better position, wraps his arm around Alec’s shoulders and pulls him closer until the credits roll.

            Alec yawns and snuggles deeper into Magnus’ arms. “This bed is so soft,” he whispers.

            Magnus chuckles softly. “What are you used to sleeping on?”

            “Books, mostly,” Alec says. His eyes flicker between closed and open like he’s not quite sure if he wants to see or sleep. “I run a bookstore that’s under my apartment and there are just... books... everywhere.”

            “And you sleep on them?”

            “Not intentionally. Just a lot of late nights.”

            “In a bookstore?”

            Alec pops open one eye to give him an indignant look. “It’s hard work.” Then he adds, somewhat unkindly, “Not that you’d know anything about that.”

            “Hey!” Magnus exclaims, although he’s not really offended. It’s hard to be offended when Alec is, a) right and, b) half-asleep and grumbling all his words. Magnus strokes his fingers down Alec’s side, sweet and soft, savouring the way the other man squirms under his touch. “I work hard. I invest. I remake clubs. I finance projects.”

            “Sorry,” Alec says, though he doesn’t sound it. “I thought you were just some rich trust fund kid.”

            “Well, I am.”

            Alec laughs and his eyes pop open to look at Magnus. “So the hard work? All bullshit?”

            “I do own quite a few companies,” Magnus replies, starting to feel a little defensive. “I may not run them _personally_ but the Bane Corporation doesn’t spend its own money.”

            A spark of uncomfortable silence lands between them. Alec says, “Oh. You’re _that_ Magnus Bane.”

            Magnus lets the silence linger for a moment, wants to see if Alec will offer anything else. His fingers have stilled and Alec now feels heavy against his arm. His arm might be falling asleep. “Is that a problem?” Magnus prompts.

            Alec shrugs and shuffles his position. He sits up and his weight and warmth leave Magnus. He curls his arms around his bent knees and says, “No. Not really. Just... well, your company is kinda trying to run me out of business with that big bookstore on the corner of Euclid.”

            “What?”

            Alec smiles but it’s strained. “Nothing.”

            “Tell me.”

            “You’re obviously not wrapped up enough in daily operations for it to matter.”

            Magnus shuts his mouth because Alec is, once again, right. But he makes a mental note to check up on a bookstore on the corner of Euclid – and to see if there’s anything he can do to help Alec’s bookstore in the process. He doubts there’s anything he can do – it’s not like he can shut down an entire chain store just because his name is on the parent company. Capitalism is never that easy – but he wants to try.

            “Will you lose your bookstore?” Magnus says quietly.

            Alec looks back at him and his smile is soft, almost unstrained. “No,” he whispers. He leans back and presses his lips against Magnus’ for just a second. “I’ll be fine.”

            Magnus kisses him back, letting their lips linger and part and their tongues come into the equation. He wants to teach Alec it’s not all about sex but it’s so hard when the man is willing and aggressive and so sexy. Magnus kisses him harder, cups a hand under his chin and pulls him forward.

            It’s only seconds before Magnus is lying in the pillows with Alec on top of him, kissing fiercely, their hands everywhere. Magnus doesn’t know if it’s more important to get Alec’s shirt off or pull his hair. He doesn’t know if he likes the soft groans or sharp moans more. He has no idea how to shut his mouth, how to shut himself up, as Alec slips from his lips to his neck, down his chest and right to his waistband.

            And with all his nerves firing, Magnus learns to leave it alone. He stops thinking, stops stressing, and starts living.

 

When Magnus wakes the next morning, Alec’s already packing. Magnus is immediately disoriented – from the lateness of the day, from Alec moving around sporadically, from the slamming drawers and closing zippers. He sits up and rubs his temples, trying to dismiss a hangover that doesn’t exist.

            “What are you doing?” he grumbles after a moment. His eyes are shut tight as if that’ll help keep out the noise.

            “Packing,” Alec says. The syllables are short and harsh. His feet land heavily on the carpeted floor. “The annulment papers are on the table. You just have to sign them and send them in.”

            Magnus’ head swims. He peeks open one eye to watch Alec as he paces the room, looking for things that simply aren’t there. He looks like he’s trying to pack a suitcase that’s not even his and that’s when Magnus realizes he’s not collecting his stuff, he’s collecting Isabelle’s. And who the hell knows what Isabelle left here.

            “You’re leaving?” Magnus says, knowing the comment is belated.

            “Yes.”

            “You’re annulling?”

            Alec scoffs. “Yes.”

            Magnus’ brain tries to follow the logic but he keeps getting tripped up on last night. Last night with Alec’s fingers in his hair, his lips on every inch of his skin. The laughter and the whispers and the careful, slow way they touched each other. Magnus stumbles over memories of feeling so safe he could cry, of actually crying, of Alec kissing his tears away and asking if he’s okay. Magnus remembers kissing the scars on Alec’s wrists, holding him close and promising things will get better.

            “You don’t want to fight it?” Magnus asks. “If you can prove it was real, you’ll get half my money.” It’s half a joke, half an attempt to get Alec to stay. After all, real or not, three days together doesn’t make it a marriage.

            Alec pauses for a moment, his hands on top of the suitcase. Then, as if deciding something, he shuts the last zipper. “No,” he says. “I don’t.”

            Magnus halts the word _wait_ on his tongue. Because he’s not sure what word comes next, because he’s not sure what happened, because he’s not sure he can convince Alec to do anything. He doesn’t know Alec. Not really. And as the suitcase wheels hit the floor and Alec starts to walk away, Magnus feels his heart pounding in his chest. When Alec disappears around the corner, Magnus feels himself start to hyperventilate.

            “Wait,” he says but his voice is too low and Alec’s too far away.

            He scrambles to his feet, not bothering with clothes, and heads after Alec. He catches up to him at the entryway to the living room and grabs him by the wrist. Alec turns his head, not all the way, and Magnus whispers, “Wait.”

            “I don’t want to ruin your life,” Alec whispers.

            And then he’s gone.

            Magnus isn’t sure how he slipped away, how he managed to take another step without Magnus throwing himself on the floor to stop him. But he does. And as the elevator doors close, Magnus steps into the living room, wondering how many other words he could say that wouldn’t have any effect. Wondering what the hell happened.

            And then he doesn’t have to wonder, because a thin voice says, “Hello, honey. Did you have fun this weekend?”

 

Camille, to her credit, isn’t mad. Magnus braces himself for her anger, prepares himself for her wrath. But she simply makes some crack about him not getting dressed for guests and then stands to kiss him. He knows she knows Alec was more than just a guest. He knows she knows that something is wrong.

            But she acts like everything is okay. And Magnus does his best to keep up with her, to listen to her, to follow her, but everything feels like it’s in a fog. Magnus wonders if the fog is a product of Alec leaving or of Camille being back in his life. He feels the urge to drink, to shoot up, more than he has since meeting Alec. He feels it like an itch under his skin as she touches his chin, throws his clothes on the bed, and tells him to get ready for brunch.

            Magnus doesn’t remember how he got to brunch. He knows, logically, that he got dressed and went down the elevator and sat down at a table, but he doesn’t remember it. Camille is suddenly by his side laughing and sipping a mimosa. His friends are all around him, chuckling and cheering and clinking glasses. Magnus has a glass himself but when he sips it, it doesn’t taste strong enough. Nothing feels strong enough.

            His eyes wander to the front desk and light upon a familiar figure.

            At once, he’s up and walking. The fog seems to be lifting. He approaches Isabelle and asks, “Where’s Alec?”

            She looks up at him with something approaching disdain and tainted with pity. “He’s safe,” she says. “He’s doing a lot better than he could be, considering.”

            Magnus blinks. “Considering what?”

            “Considering your fiancé blindsided him, told him you’re _like this_ , and then sent him on his way,” she says. She flicks her eyes back to their brunch table and smirks. “She seems really fucking lovely, Magnus. Good job there.”

            “I’m not... she...” Magnus can’t find words but at least Isabelle seems willing to wait until he has them, until he can think. Magnus can feel his head clearing just standing there and he knows, immediately, that it’s Camille creating the fog. He feels sick even thinking he’s drinking this early in the morning. He swallows hard. “Isabelle. Where is Alec? Let me explain.”

            Isabelle doubts him, he knows she does, but she makes the crucial mistake of looking behind her.

            Magnus doesn’t wait for her to say anything else. He moves immediately, rushing towards the front doors, and before he knows it, he’s in the backseat of the cab. Alec looks up at him and his lips curl around words but Magnus doesn’t let them form. He grabs Alec’s face and kisses him, kisses him hard and then soft and then pulls back altogether to look at his shocked face.

            “Remember you told me how bad it was to fall in love with your best friend?” Magnus whispers.

            Alec nods.

            “I think Camille is like that,” he says. “I think I can’t be with her.”

            Alec stares at him for a long moment. “I can’t be your recovery rebound.”

            “That’s fine,” Magnus says. “Maybe we can be recovery friends.”

            Alec looks at him for a long moment. Magnus suddenly becomes aware that his palms are still against Alec’s cheeks and he lets them fall awkwardly. Then, with the same softness Magnus has quickly become accustomed to, Alec says, “Okay.”

 

Three years later, in a small bookstore that’s more dust than books, Magnus and Alec sit on the floor eating Chinese food. The candle lighting their feet is an accident waiting to happen but Magnus begged for its presence, got Alec on board after only an hour of arguing. The apartment upstairs is where they’ll sleep tonight, despite the fact that Magnus has a Penthouse a few blocks away, another house in Upper Manhattan, and a third property out in Queens, all of them much bigger than Alec’s tiny bookstore apartment.

            Magnus doesn’t care. He’s not sure he’s ever cared about luxuries.

            “To your sobriety,” Alec says, holding up a can of Ginger Ale.

            Magnus clinks it with his own can. “To moving up in the world.”

            Alec smiles and looks around the empty shop. The closed sign in the window has been up a few days now but people still walk past and pause, looking in through the dusty windows to the empty shelves beyond. “I’m gonna miss this place,” Alec says.

            “Me too.” And Magnus is surprised he means it.

            Alec reaches for a fortune cookie and Magnus stops him. Their fingers curl together momentarily, Alec raises an eyebrow at him, and Magnus pushes the other fortune cookie towards him without a word. Alec’s smile widens and he takes it, cracking it open to reveal a white gold ring with diamonds set all the way around.

            Alec looks up at him, questioning, curious, teasing.

            “Alec Lightwood,” Magnus says, soft, “will you marry me?”

            Alec’s smile broadens. “I think you’re forgetting we’re already married.”

            “For real this time. With the flowers and the suits and the people who love us.”

            Alec leans over the flickering candle to kiss him. With their lips still pressed together, he says, “Yes.”


End file.
